


A Thrill to Press My Cheek To

by Siria



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post-Episode: s04e12 Smoke & Mirrors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 18:03:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2821289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek and Braeden in the desert.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thrill to Press My Cheek To

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Cate for reading over this for me.

Derek climbed out of the truck and stood, tilting his face up to the night sky. He had to fight the urge to arch his spine and bare his throat to the full moon. It had been two weeks since they'd left Mexico and Derek still felt as if he was relearning his body, adjusting to the way all of him felt scraped clean, raw, after each shift. 

"Go on," Braeden said, closing the driver's door behind her. Derek looked over to see a half-smile on her face as she hefted one of the coolers and her overnight bag out of the flatbed. "I've got some calls to make and they'll take a while. You go do your thing."

It was eleven at night in the far, remote reaches of the west Texas desert, and Derek didn't need more of an offer than that. He shed his clothes and his shoes and his human skin and ran. There was nothing to obscure the moon out here—no street lights' reflected glow, no tall trees or high buildings, just miles of scrub and soil. Derek ran, and ran, and howled with the joy that this was his skin to pull on any time he wished. 

When he finally grew tired, shortly before dawn, he navigated his way back towards the safe house by Braeden's scent. Derek shifted back for the last mile's walk, taking his time. His scalp prickled with remembered moonlight, and every particle of soil beneath his feet felt distinct and vibrant. 

Braeden was sitting on the little porch, two mugs of coffee steaming gently next to her while she frowned at something on her tablet. Derek's clothes were neatly folded and set, together with his boots, at the foot of the steps. He stooped to retrieve his boxers and pulled them on because the thought of getting a splinter didn't appeal, but he left the rest of the clothes where they were. No one else out here to see them. 

"The red mug's yours," Braeden said when he sat down beside her. She didn't look up from what she was doing, but Derek was quietly pleased at the way her scent became richer, warmed, when he leaned over and pressed a kiss to her shoulder. 

"You stay up all night?" he asked. She'd taken off her jacket and her hair was piled up in a messy bun, but otherwise she was dressed the same as the day before. 

"Took me time to track down a couple of old contacts of mine," Braeden said, finally setting the tablet aside. "They're going to help us get some supplies, but it'll be a few days before they can get them to San Antonio for us to pick up."

"Sounds good," Derek said, taking a sip of his coffee. The sun had made its way up over the horizon and the desert around them was slowly turning from grey to gold. 

"You sure you're okay with us going east for a bit? If you want to go back—"

Derek shrugged. "I think maybe I'm better off out of Beacon Hills for a little bit. Besides," he said, deliberately nonchalant, looking at Braeden out of the corner of his eye, "it's not like we have to be there for a while, right?"

"Smooth," Braeden said, but her voice was laced with amusement. She reached out and wrapped one warm, callused hand around his wrist; her touch was gentle but it made Derek shiver regardless, as if she were touching tender new skin that had just grown over an old wound. It felt so good that Derek couldn't help but smile. "You're just looking for more opportunities to run free where no one's going to spot you, aren't you?"

"You got me," Derek said. 

No matter how much his body changed, Derek thought, he would still remember this: how it felt to inhabit the space defined by the warm press of Braeden's hands against his arm, his cheek; what it was to close his eyes and listen to her heart keep time with his own.


End file.
